


Totally Real Magic Potions That Exist

by GenericUsername01



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Blackmail, Crack, Multi, Sex Pollen, Trope Inversion, aziraphale claims it made him be rude to a customer and drink hot cocoa, technically it's called sin pollen here, this fake pollen induces all types sinful urges not just horniness :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: Heaven does not have sex scandals. No. Not anymore, not after the nephilim.So when the Archangel Gabriel is caught in a compromising position with a demon lord in his office, it is clearly a misunderstanding. A simple misunderstanding that can be easily explained by an intricate web of lies.The demons have a pollen that brings an angel's buried sinful urges to the surface. The angels have a potion that can render a demon docile and nonviolent. Obviously. These are facts. And Aziraphale and Crowley have definitely been exposed to both of these totally real things.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 146





	Totally Real Magic Potions That Exist

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by a text post by ineffably-effable and aethelflaedladyofmercia on tumblr :)
> 
> WARNING for the negative implications always involved in a sex pollen story, though I tried to avoid those as much as possible. Also there's not even any sex pollen. Aziraphale also briefly mentions past drug use, and there is some violent discussion around Beelzebub and Gabriel's affair

The thing was… The problem was. Virtue Ariel didn’t fucking _knock_ , okay?

And so the intruding angel got quite the eyeful of her highly respected boss going to town between Prince Beelzebub’s legs with said lord of Hell sprawled out on his desk.

Ariel had gasped, dropped her ethereal tablet, and then given an ear-shattering shriek.

Beelzebub had vanished back into Hell within the second. Gabriel had frozen stiff— just long enough for several Powers and a cherub to come rushing in.

That was the problem.

That had been Tuesday. Obviously, he had had to come up with something. And he couldn’t even use convenient demon magic powers, because he is technically a seraph, and could _totally take Beelzebub in a duel._

The news report had cited a new mind-altering demonic weapon that brought repressed sinful urges to the surface. Urges no angel would ordinarily even acknowledge, much less act on. And so clearly Gabriel couldn’t be held at fault here at all, and it was all a misunderstanding.

It had the Host shook up for a while, but it was _fine_.

* * *

Until six weeks later, when Michael was caught with Ligur in a supply closet off the main lobby between Heaven and Hell.

“I was exposed to the same demonic weapon as Seraph Gabriel,” she said. Clothes had been miracled back into an impeccably tidy state by that point. “It was aerosolized. I had no chance to resist.”

That was good enough for the poor guards and news angels and lobby workers, but Gabriel made a point to speak to her privately later.

“That demonic weapon, huh?” he said. He leaned back against his desk and folded his arms. “I don’t suppose you could tell me anything about it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe you ever gave any details. I assure you it was the same thing, however.”

“A pollen, right?” he asked, completely making it up.

“Of course.”

“I see. Well, we’ll just have to be extra vigilant, then! Perhaps next time you see a demon you should wear a gas mask until you leave the confines of Heaven.”

Her expression got even drier, somehow. “An excellent precaution for you as well,” she said. “In other news, my sources tell me that Lucifer’s queen is pregnant. Apparently the Devil is a bit touchy about it. He’ll only allow his most trusted attendants in the room with her, the guard has been tripled, and he hired a second cupbearer. Lilith is due at the end of the year.”

“The Antichrist.”

She nodded. “It’s time,” she nodded. “I don’t suppose your… exposure to the pollen resulted in any further information?”

“No.” He grit his teeth.

“Then what was the fucking point?”

Gabriel floundered, and Michael huffed and walked away.

* * *

The story broke on the Celestial Enquirer. Heaven sent out an official memo from Head Office. Then a very long email, with even longer attachments. There was an all-staff meeting with all questions welcomed. It went on for three days. Finally, all the field agents were contacted.

Gabriel had 1600 principalities within his division. About 20 were stationed on Earth right now. Most got burnt out of the job fairly quickly— they’ve theorized it’s about being cut off from the Host and essentially alone the whole time, though many principalities insisted that Earth was just a bad place to be regardless, that the people were horrible and stupid and wouldn’t listen to jack shit.

Gabriel had heard horror stories.

But he did have one fucking weird guy down there who hadn’t requested to leave. And unfortunately, Gabriel _did_ eventually have to go and talk to him.

“Aziraphale!” he said, entering the principality’s business establishment.

Aziraphale has a _business establishment._ Of all the degrading, nonsensical—

“Gabriel! How lovely to see you! I-I wasn’t expecting you anytime soon, last I checked I thou-thought I had seventy-six years left until my next centennial check-in.”

“Right, yeah, this isn’t about that.” He picked up the rectangular-ish objects and inspected them. They were like the old scrolls, before tablets had come in vogue, but cut up into pieces and bound together on one end. Humans had electronic means of information transfer by now; or at least, the latest intel said they did. Why still use physical information containers? What purpose did they serve?

He set the strange object down with a frown. “So,” he said. “Due to a number of incidents Upstairs, we are issuing a warning to all Heavenly personnel to be on guard. The opposition has a formidable new weapon they’re using. It suppresses an angel’s natural inhibitions and brings forbidden desires to the fore. As of yet, no angels have Fallen due to it, but that’s because of the mitigating circumstances which produced the unholy desires, and because they continued right back on the straight-and-narrow post exposure.”

“Exposure? I—Forgive me, Archangel, but I’m afraid I’m a bit lost?”

Gabriel sighed. “The demons have some sort of sin pollen, okay? Archangel Michael and I have both been exposed already. Thankfully, the effects are temporary, but be on guard anyway, okay? A taste of sin like that could get you started down the wrong path. _Anyone_ is susceptible, clearly. An anti-demon measures retraining document has been forwarded to your email, look it over as soon as you can. It’s pretty basic. Always keep your holy weapon handy, wear charms, ward your dwellings regularly, and there’s a whole big thing about magical battle tactics. Just read it.”

He sighed and disappeared from the shop in a sweet-smelling cloud and light rain of glitter.

Aziraphale’s eyes had widened impossibly early on in the speech. He took a steadying breath, readjusting his bowtie and waistcoat. He stood still for a moment, thinking.

Sin pollen. Demonic sin pollen that could fell even an archangel. No one could be held at fault over it.

He went into the back room to make himself some cocoa and see about this email.

* * *

Beelzebub sat with all the arrogance and nonchalance of any terrible prince on zir throne. Zir throne room was cluttered with lesser demons today, vying for attention, or sometimes assuming that proximity equaled clout somehow.

There was a knock on the heavy wooden door, and one of its guards looked through the slot.

“Lord Dagon, Your Royal Lowness.”

“Admit her.” Beelzebub waved a hand lazily.

The guards dragged open the doors, and Dagon entered, holding a stapled paper packet like a prize. She held it up. “New intel, m’ Lord.”

“Give it here.” Ze took the packet. Zir eyes skimmed over it quickly. Reading is a very different affair when you can see out of the eyes of dozens of flies at once, and every single eye has hundreds, if not thousands, of facets. “What the fuck. Sin pollen? Where did this intel come from?”

“Duke Ligur, Your Lowness.”

Ze nodded in understanding. Ligur was a good spy. Better than Legion, even. Beelzebub knew he was fucking an archangel for information, didn’t know which one. Probably Sandalphon or Uriel. Ze might have to keep a closer eye on that situation.

“Bring him in. I wanna talk to him.”

* * *

“—and so I printed it all off while I was up there and slipped the papers under my shirt, no one the wiser,” Ligur said proudly, lounging in his chair at Beelzebub’s table with far more self-importance than was warranted.

“Sin pollen,” Beelzebub said. _“Sin pollen.”_

Ze reread one particular paragraph on the document in disgust.

“Well,” one of Legion said. “I mean, it can’t be shocking, can it? I mean, you used it on the Archangel Gabriel.”

“Of course I did,” ze snapped. “I’m merely shocked those feather-brained fools were able to figure it out. _I_ was _discreet_ while dosing him.”

Ligur gave a shrug and a half-smile. “Guess I wasn’t, then,” he said. “The point is, Heaven is _terrified.”_

“Man,” a different Legion said. “I had no idea we had something like this! How come I’d never heard of it?”

“It’s new. Had to go through trial runs first. Obviously,” ze said. “Limited supply.”

Ze contemplated flat-out murdering Gabriel. Count on an angel to not even have the decency to tell you what the cover story was. Practically demonic behavior. Though, as ze thought about, perhaps a different punishment would be enough.

“What an opportunity,” Dagon said. “I’m telling you right now, if I was ever within one foot of Gabriel’s sanctimonious, heavenly prick, I’d rip it clean off ‘im.”

The assembled demons grunted and laughed their agreement.

“Oy, yeah,” a lesser demon piped up. Halphas, maybe. “How come that fucker’s still alive, Your Royal Lowness? Were you extra gentle with him?”

That brought forth another round of laughter, and Beelzebub quietly panicked while doing zir most to keep zir face calm.

“Wasn’t able to gut him like I’d hoped,” ze said. “There’s a reason we haven’t given you all doses of the pollen to use. The angels already have a defense against it. They have some counter drug that makes demons very docile and nonviolent.”

“Really?” Merihem asked, and really, how many people honestly needed to be in this room right now? Wasn’t that fucker supposed to be on Earth? God damnit.

“Yep. Yeah, uh, they’ve had it for decades. So the sin pollen doesn’t really do much, when combined with that.” Ze shrugged. “Practically no sense in using it. Angels aren’t Falling for succumbing, not unless they keep sinning later, and none of us can do anything to an angel with it, ‘cuz they’re all prepared. But at least we know that now. This is why we do testing.” Ze glared out at the room. “There’s too many people in here. Stop standing around and get back to work. Now!”

* * *

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, startling as he entered. He jumped up and hurried over to him. “Oh, I’m so glad you came over, dear boy, I was just considering calling you. Here, let me help you with your coat.”

Crowley frowned as Aziraphale—absurdly—took the jacket off his shoulders and hung it up. The angel himself wasn’t wearing his own jacket either, though, even had his shirtsleeves rolled up, so perhaps it wasn’t totally out of bounds. It was a few degrees warmer in the bookshop than it normally was, even accounting for how the temperature always rose a few degrees when Crowley entered.

(He had told Aziraphale that that wasn’t necessary, but the angel insisted it was simply good manners to look out for the comfort of one’s guests.)

“Do you want anything, my dear? Some wine, coffee? Bourbon? Whatever you like, I have all of your favorites.”

“Uh, coffee’ll be fine.”

“Excellent! Excellent, I’ll just be a mo’.”

Aziraphale whisked himself into the backroom. Crowley followed, hesitant.

He sat down on the couch gingerly and Aziraphale busied himself with their drinks before sitting down… next to him on the couch.

“Is something wrong, angel?” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Oh _shiiit!_ Did any demons come by? Did any of them open any containers or anything? Actually, might not have taken that, I don’t really know. Okay, Aziraphale, listen to me: you’ve been dosed with an infernal sin pollen. You need to… I don’t know, go take a shower or something. Drink lots of water. Go back to Heaven for a while and cool off. I’ll—I’m going to leave.”

“Wait!” Aziraphale grabbed his arm. “I haven’t been exposed to anything, I swear! I just—I was…” He gave a very put-upon sigh. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The—the sin pollen. That Hell has.”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, and Aziraphale’s hand dropped. “Yeah? What about it?”

“Do you think you could get some?”

_“What!?!”_

“Honestly, Crowley, it was a perfectly reasonable question,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Wh—No it wasn’t!” he said. “Angel, you…” He dipped his voice down lower. “You want me to get you drugs?”

“Oh! Honestly. You make it sound so uncouth.”

“Wh—That’s literally what you’re asking for!”

“And it’s not like the two of us haven’t indulged in illicit substances before. Frankly, this one shouldn’t even be called illicit. It is merely—a substance. That I would like to try. Like a new tea.”

“It is not like that!” he said. “Absolutely not anything at all like that!”

“I don’t know, I always found that cocaine put me in quite the mood—”

_“Aziraphale.”_

“Crowley,” he said, taking his hands in his own. “I… I know we don’t talk about this often. Partly because it’s easier. But… the angels aren’t Falling for it. And it’s a demonic weapon that you’d no doubt be praised for using. I think—I think this would allow us to be together, openly, and get away with it.”

“A _sin_ pollen?” he asked. “What about that mysterious demon-taming potion that all angels carry around? Why can’t we use that as an excuse, or why haven’t you brought it up before now? ‘Cuz the sin pollen will only clear us for outright sinful acts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The way I heard it, the pollen makes buried ungodly urges rise to the surface. And, yeah, that could mean stuff other than sex, and I guess we could pass off dinner dates as gluttony, but still, angel, people expect heavenly repression to manifest in pretty much one way—”

“No, no, a demon taming potion? Did I hear that correctly?”

“Yeah? Beelzebub said that’s why ze didn’t butcher Gabriel in the act. Apparently angels have been carrying around some docility-inducing thing for decades that makes demons nonviolent and gentle or whatever. It’s the only reason that asshole’s alive right now.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, mind working so fast Crowley could practically _see_ the idea coming to him. “That isn’t true.”

“What?”

“That isn’t true. There is no docility potion. Beelzebub lied.”

“But why would…?” He trailed off. “They’re having an affair.”

“Which begs the question about how real the sin pollen is too,” Aziraphale said. “It’s all rather convenient, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter, actually. Without that, the plan won’t work. I just thought… Even if we didn’t use the pollen, just having it would give us enough of an excuse.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “We can still do that.”

“What? No we can’t.”

“Yeah, yeah we can. The only people who’ve been ‘exposed’ to this stuff are Beelzebub and Gabriel, right?”

“And Michael and Ligur.”

“Right! And see, right now, down in Hell, Beelzebub is trying to convince everyone that it isn’t worth using. So hopefully, if ze does zir job right, no one’ll even ask for samples of the stuff. But if they do, they’ll be sent on a wild goose chase. Ze will never let anyone find out there’s no sin pollen, because that means Gabriel trusted a demon enough to have sex with one without fearing for his life.”

“That would ruin Beelzebub’s reputation,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Exactly. Both lies rely on each other, they don’t work alone, and no one who knows the truth can afford to let it slip out. In any way.”

“You’re saying…” He trailed off. Then gasped. “Crowley! _Blackmail?”_

“No, think of it more like a mutually assured destruction pact. We’d be at equal risk too.”

“That’s worse!”

“It is?”

“Well—Well, not _morally,_ but I certainly like it worse. There’s no way it would work. Gabriel and Michael would out us in a second.”

“No they wouldn’t.”

“Yes they would. They’re very strict about rules. They’d do anything to keep Heaven spiritually clean.”

“Nah. I think they’d do anything keep their _reputation_ squeaky clean. There’s a huge difference in that.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You don’t know them like I do. They’re both pillars of righteousness. No sin is too small to escape their notice unpunished, certainly not something like this.”

“Angel,” Crowley said gently. “They’re both having illicit affairs with demons and lying to the entire Host to cover it up.”

“…Oh,” he said. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

They decided—for safety purposes—to make a big, public show of it, with plenty of witnesses.

Unfortunately, dragging their counterparts into each of their separate realms was not an option, but they made do.

Crowley strode into Hell looking like a menace and slapped his latest report down on the secretary’s desk, which wasn’t being attended this century. Or the last several.

He stalked deeper into the cramped labyrinth of utilitarian office rooms, until he came upon the main area.

Now, Hell—of course—exists for demons. Unfortunately, humans also get sent there, quite a lot, actually. And there isn’t that much space to start with. So Floors -3 through -5 were the fiery pits, which were to be shared by every single demon ranked lower than duke and every single deceased human soul. It was a terrible arrangement. Very miserable.

“You guys won’t beelieeeeve what just happened to me!” Crowley practically shouted into the room.

“What ‘appened, fuckface?” Raum asked.

“I tried usin’ that sin pollen on my most despicable adversary, Aziraphale the Mighty, and guess what?” He slapped both hands down on a table that existed purely to be in the way. “Those wank-wings have some sort of—some sort of—softness potion!”

He had most of the crowd’s attention by now.

“I drugged the fucking angel, but then he drugged me back! I was suddenly overcome with the urge to just bundle him up with blankets and make him hot cocoa! Non-violently!”

The demonic horde murmured their shock and disgust.

“And I retaliated by just throwing more and more of the sin pollen at him, but then he did the same with me, and—and…” Crowley swallowed. He looked up at his compatriots suddenly, sure that the fluorescent lights would make him look pale and generally bad. “I broke him, the angel, permanently. But I think he did the same to me. The drugs have warped my mind.”

“Warped it how?” Vepar called out.

Crowley swallowed again. “I overdosed on the docility potion and its effect is permanent,” he said. “I feel only affectionate, soft feelings towards my most fearsome enemy. I see human children playing and I am kind to them against my will. I am protective of the wildlife of the Earth. I—”

“What does any of that mean?”

“Oy, Beelz is here!”

“Beelz—Your Royal Lowness! Crowley’s spouting some real shit right now.”

“Is that right,” ze asked. The crowd had parted before zem until ze stood in front of Crowley, arms crossed. He gave a little bow in deference.

“Your Royal Lowness, I attempted to expose my adversary to the new sin pollen—as you remember, I was instrumental in developing it—and in the fierce battle that followed, we both overdosed on the other side’s poison. I was able to defeat the angel, yes, and entice them to sin, but only at great personal cost to myself.”

Beelzebub frowned. “How so?”

“I overdosed on the docility potion.”

“You overdosed.”

“I overdosed. I have permanent brain damage. I healed a child’s skinned knee yesterday. I returned a lost cat to its home. I spent _hours_ just kissing my adversary. _I almost wrote a poem.”_

The demons recoiled in horror, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Very dangerous stuff, these potions,” Beelzebub said loudly, calling the crowd’s attention back to zyrself. “There’s a reason we haven’t approved it for general use.”

“Ah, but I’m your idea man, Your Lowness. What kind of inventor would I be for you if I sent my own Prince to test a dangerous experimental substance and was unwilling to take the same risk myself? I’m no coward, you know, and any good scientific experiment should have at _least_ three trials, but—” he shrugged “—no one else here has the balls or dedication to do what you and I have done.”

That succeeded in making everyone mad.

“It was a failed experiment!” Beelzebub said through clenched teeth. “Clearly, when neither attempt was able to achieve anything, there’s no sense in endangering a third demon over it. There will be no further trials and _no more sin pollen._ ”

“I gave my life to find that out,” Crowley said, addressing the increasingly agitated horde.

“You’re still alive,” Beelzebub said.

“But am I really?” he asked. “I have given so much in the pursuit of science. Of corrupting those perfect little angels. More than any other demon here! And what do I get for it? Debased. Humiliated. Forced to feel love and kindness!”

Demons made various angry noises, yelling about injustice—which was the closest they ever got to feeling sympathy. The desire for vengeance is its equivalent substitute, down in Hell.

“It’s a _docility_ potion! I am the Original Tempter, the Serpent of Eden. I am darkness! I am the night! And I have been domesticated by some horrible angel warrior! It’s a mockery. How am I to do demonic work now, what with all my empathy for the Earth’s creatures?! I am disgusted!”

* * *

In the end, Crowley walked out of Hell with an honorary promotion, a medal for valor and bad work, and an indefinite sabbatical. Beelzebub glared the whole time. Hastur saluted him.

* * *

Aziraphale fluttered into Heaven all in a tizzy. Hand-wringing, nervous glances, slow and faltering steps. He stuttered and blushed in embarrassment when greeted.

“Is something the matter, Principality?” the secretary asked. Yomiel, his name was.

“Oh—Oh, nothing, really. It’s just,” he looked around nervously, then swallowed and leaned a bit closer to the welcome desk. “Did you read the memo about that—that demonic weapon?”

“Of course,” Yomiel said. His work partner, Chazaqiel, looked up curiously.

“I fear I may have been exposed to it,” Aziraphale hushed. Chazaqiel’s eyes widened, and Yomiel wheeled his chair back a bit. Aziraphale cringed.

“That’s exactly what I feared,” he said. “It wasn’t like I intended it! It was a complete accident! The demon just came out of nowhere. Oh, I don’t know how I’m going to tell Gabriel.”

“Well surely he will offer his sympathy,” Chazaqiel said. “You principalities are our front line on Earth. You take on the most dangerous of Heaven’s work. It was inevitable, in a way. Gabriel will understand.”

“Oh, but are you sure?” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “I should have applied for a transfer. I was down there far too long. Six thousand years.”

Yomiel gasped, horrified.

Another angel had been walking past at that moment and perked up at the allusion to potential drama. Zephon, from the archives, holding three massive scrolls in her arms. She set them down on the counter immediately. “What’s going on?”

“Aziraphale was exposed to the sin pollen,” Chazaqiel said, with the false sympathy of a notorious gossip.

Zephon gave a mock gasp. “Oh no, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He waved away their concerns. “Nothing even happened, truly. After the demon attacked, I was simply overcome with the urge to use profanity and engage in commerce. Ghastly, but of no lasting harm. Though I was appalled to find myself _selling books.”_

“Selling books?” Yomiel asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I own a bookshop as part of my human cover down on Earth, you see, as they believe it quite necessary for one to have both an occupation and a permanent place to live. Entirely a false front, I assure you, but after my exposure to the sin pollen, I—” Aziraphale sucked in a shaky breath. “I fell prey to the sin of greed, desiring to keep all of the books to myself and—and _buy_ more than I could ever need. I was even rude to a customer!”

The angels gasped and tittered, even though Aziraphale knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had no clue what any of that meant.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” he said. “That horrible, evil demon used far too much of the sin pollen, and I overdosed. The effects are…” He looked out at each of them, with wide, watery eyes. He whispered, _“Permanent.”_

The crowd—slightly grown—responded with the appropriate horrified sympathy, and Zephon even hugged him.

“This is just awful, Aziraphale,” Chazaqiel said. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. We’ll get you off Earth right away. How were you able to fight off the demon, after all of that?”

A new angel—Harael—handed him a kerchief that he dabbed at his eyes with. “Oh, I didn’t, I didn’t. It was that sin pollen. Any sense of moral uprightness left me entirely and I found myself completely unwilling to do battle. I no longer have it in me to raise up my sword against demons. I made hot cocoa and invited him to stay. The demon didn’t, of course, being a scoundrel and a knave, he flew off into the night, cackling evilly. Said,” he blinked and sniffled, “Said he had already put one of Heaven’s soldier’s out of commission, and he was done with me now.”

“Oh, you aren’t out of commission! You’re a warrior. The healers will be able to fix this. And even if they aren’t, you can be reassigned to Heaven, where there are no temptations to sin.”

“…I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’m just so nervous to tell Gabriel. I _know,_ of course, that he would never hold a battlefield injury against me, especially after six thousand years down there, but I can’t help worrying about how he’ll take it. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to him. I don’t… I don’t suppose you all would be willing to come with me? For moral support?”

Yomiel laid a hand on his shoulder. “Of course.”

* * *

“—so I just don’t see how I’m fit for angel work anymore.”

Gabriel’s eyes were as cold and hard as steel. “I think we can both agree on that.”

“But a healer can fix it, right?” Zephon asked. “There’s no way he can be just—permanently disabled, can he?”

“I already tried a healing miracle of my own,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Unless you’d like to get Raphael involved? I’m sure he’s been studying this sin pollen extensively, since you informed him of it.”

“Right. Absolutely. Unfortunately, there is nothing Raphael can do, so. No need to bother him with this. Better leave him to his research,” Gabriel said. “We’ll get you recalled to Heaven right away, Aziraphale, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Really? Because I do.”

“But see, now that I’m a reprobate sinner—”

“You really wanna call yourself that?”

“—I fear I might be a corruptive influence on the Host. After all, there is no sin in Heaven. But if I were to be recalled, suddenly there would be. It would be like introducing the bubonic plague to a population with no immunity. You all remember how that went, don’t you?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be anything so dramatic.”

“I’m sure it would. Entirely new ideas about sin would spread throughout the Host. Unholy ideas. Angels would Fall, that’s for certain. There might even be a second War.”

Harael drew in a breath.

“A second War,” Gabriel ground out.

Aziraphale nodded gravely.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You have been exposed to an _overdose_ of the demonic sin pollen. You now believe its effects are permanent and irreversible. And you want to be discharged from your platoon and all other Heavenly duties, so that you can stay down on Earth forever and… sin.”

He nodded again.

 _“Honorably_ discharged,” Chazaqiel said.

“Hey, yeah,” Yomiel said. “Isn’t there a medal that we give out, to angels who were injured in the line of duty?”

They all looked to Gabriel expectantly. The archangel found it in him to smile.

“There sure is.”

* * *

Crowley collapsed down onto the bookshop’s couch with a grin plastered on his face. Aziraphale was also failing to hold back a smile. A brilliant thought occurred to him, and he got out of his armchair and moved over to sit next to Crowley on the couch, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.

Crowley froze, for just a moment, and then smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. He snapped his fingers, and two bottles of the finest wine Aziraphale owned appeared.

“Well, angel,” he said. “Feel like celebrating our early retirement?”

The wine, obligingly, decided to pour itself into two glasses and float into their respective free hands. Aziraphale held out his glass in toast. “To being corrupted.”

“To being _domesticated.”_

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed his cheek. Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and he turned kissed Aziraphale’s lips for a long, long moment.

“To going native,” Aziraphale said.

“Cheers.”


End file.
